Well, shit.
She’s good. She’s damn good. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ve been known to poison the men I stalk,” she says, then grits her teeth, like she’s cursing herself. “I didn’t mean?—”
But nope. No way can I let her take the brunt of my fuck-up. I dive into the apology waters. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry about the whole thing. I was out of line. I jumped to conclusions. I was an idiot. My sisters would tell me to shut my mouth and never speak again.” I take a breath, then say, “I would like to try again to get along.”
She arches a brow, not quite sold yet. “So…you know I’m not stalking you? You’re clear on that?”
“One hundred percent,” I say.
But have I said enough? I rewind to the night we spent together. I really don’t want to revisit all the things I shared, but she knows them, and now I’m going to have to share this workspace with her.Every day.Best to apologize like I mean it. “But I’ve…well, I’ve got serious trust issues, Chloe. As you know.”
“I’ll say,” she says, but there’s less bite in her tone than there was a minute or so prior.
I tap my chest, owning it. “I…yeah. I freaked out.”
“You did,” she says, holding her ground.
“And those trust issues came out today. My fault. Completely my fault.”
I tug at my shirt collar. It feels tight. Itchy even. Maybe I’m allergic to opening up? Probably.
“I understand,” Chloe says, her tone gentling at last. “And I’m sorry for the poisoning comment.” She exhales slowly, offers a small conciliatory smile. “I’m Chloe Rivers. I’m a dog trainer from Darling Springs, and I’m trying to grow my business here. Chloe’s Paw-sitive Dog Training. Let’s try to get along.”
“Sawyer Dumont. I own Dog Tails. A dog daycare and grooming business with eight locations now in the Bay Area,” I say, like I’m pitching my résumé. But it’s better than slinging accusations. Besides, I’m proud of this business and the way I’ve built it, personally spending time at each location at the start to get them off the ground. Of finally pursuing one of my passions for work. “Youcould say I’m a big fan of dogs. All dogs. Though, my favorite breed is rescue.”
Her smile brightens. “Mine too.”
I stick out a hand to shake.
She studies it for a few seconds, then takes it.
And…wow. Touching her again throws me off for a few seconds as memories of our hands all over each other flash before my eyes. Her hands against the wall. Mine all over her beautiful body. I lift my nose, catching the faintest hint of her cinnamon scent. It’s so fitting for her, and it’s trouble for me.
My gaze drifts to her chest, to the top two undone buttons on her shirt. It’s not racy, but even the sliver of skin exposed is cranking the temperature up in me. Making me remember that night. The things I wanted to do to her if I saw her again.
But we’re working together now, and I know better than to complicate business matters. A good leader doesn’t drag his personal life into work—that’s Management 101. “Thanks again. Really appreciate you being so…” What’s the word I’m looking for? Chill? That hardly covers the relief I feel. But there’s a word that does. “Professional.”
She seems to mull that over, studying me for a beat. “We can work together. But let’s not pretend we’re friends.”
That’s fair. “Heard.”
Her expression softens a hair—just a flicker—before she clears her throat. “The mayor told me about a TV show being shot in town with some dogs in the cast.”
My brows lift. “That so?”
She nods. “And that’s why I need to move quickly to get my space ready. I’d really like to be involved with the show. With the dog training.”
Looks like we’ve got common ground. “And I’d like to be involved with the daycare. And the grooming. If the show needs any.”
“It’s a truce then,” she says.
Once upon a time I wanted a second date with her. I’ll have to settle for this. “It is.”
She blows out a breath, like she’s relaxed now. But when she screws up the corner of her mouth, it’s clear there’s something on her mind. She glances down at her hand, studying her fingers, then lifts the left hand, lowering all but the middle finger an inch or two, saying, “I guess I won’t blame you for my broken nail.”
She’s not quite flipping me the bird, and it feels like she’s saying I dodged a bullet. I’m grateful, so I add, “Thank you. Want a Band-Aid?”
